Under the Chinese Dragon: A Tale of Mongolia

by F. S. Brereton

'Stay still,' David heard him whisper to the man known as the 'Admiral.' 'It's a policeman inspecting. He won't see the glare; he couldn't with this tent. What's he making all that noise about?'

It was Constable Hemming without a doubt, and if the truth had been guessed at, the honest fellow had suddenly become fearful for the safety of our hero. There was a second constable on duty with him, patrolling the outskirts of the store, and the latter had reported a sudden glare within. Hemming was sceptical; but he went at once to the letter-box, and opened the flap with a loud click. Yes, there did seem to be a glare over the manager's office, he thought, but it died away at once.

'He's been having a feed,' he suggested to his comrade. 'Switched on a light in the office for a while, and then turned it out again. He'll have heard the latch go, he'd have shouted if there was trouble.'

But the sound he had made had been sufficient to alarm Henricksen and his comrades. David saw the 'Admiral' suddenly crouch close to the floor and grope in his pocket. Henricksen tore his glasses from his eyes, and emerging from the tent, groped on the desk for the weapon he had left there. A growl escaped him as he failed to find it. His fingers ran over the leather surface, over the pens and ink bottle and paper, but still they were unsuccessful. Then he turned to his comrade.

'That fellow made a heap of noise,' he said. 'I thought he might be suspicious. Suppose he didn't see or hear Spolikoff; but where's my Browning? I could swear that I left it on the desk here.'

'I saw you,' came the answer. 'You put it down close to the ink bottle: ain't it there?'

'Not a sign of it. Can't very well see yet, for that glare is terrific in spite of smoked glasses. But I've run my fingers everywhere, and there's no shooter. Spolikoff's taken it perhaps.'

Meanwhile, David had crouched behind the bookcase again, and for the moment almost shivered. It was true that he was now armed; but would that help him against such miscreants, considering he was like a rat in a trap, hemmed in the closest quarters? He even thought wildly of making a dash for the outside of the manager's office, and was bracing his muscles for the effort, when a dusky figure came sliding in through the glass doorway, to be detected instantly by our hero, but not so by the others, for their backs were in that direction, while even if it had been otherwise their eyes were still hardly fit for such a task.

'S-s-shish!' said the man, whispering. 'It's Spolikoff. A policeman came to the opening and rattled. I dived down and sat still; then I managed to get to a place where I could see through a chink in the shutters. Two constables were talking outside. I saw them part and walk away along the pavement. It's all clear again.'

The 'Admiral' gave vent to a sigh of relief, and wiped the sweat from his forehead, while Henricksen turned round and stared hard at the man, still unable to see him.